


Standard Transmission

by fivewhatfive



Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 04:32:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/511350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fivewhatfive/pseuds/fivewhatfive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's not like they led uneventful lives--and it's not like Gossip Girl would let them, anyway--but this is a snowball Serena isn't equipped to handle. Post 2.17</p>
            </blockquote>





	Standard Transmission

**Author's Note:**

> for osito-panda, who I believe prompted "gears".

Suffice it to say, they should've seen something like this eventually coming. It's not like they led uneventful lives--and it's not like Gossip Girl would _let_ them, anyway--but this is a snowball Serena isn't equipped to handle. It's Dan, and it’s Ms. Carr, and it’s--

"This is what decadence feels like," Blair says and disrupts Serena's turbulent reverie. "You should've told me this is what decadence felt like."

Serena's brow wrinkles. "I should," she says, uncertainly. Blair is wearing her never _not_ melodramatic sleep mask, but Serena spies the soft creases on Blair’s own brow, recognizes the glare hiding behind the silk barrier.

"I should. Yeah," Serena relents, half-serious, and chews on her bottom lip as if it's going to do anything to stop the smile coming up. Blair has her own avalanche to cope with--Yale on the line, God knows what with Chuck, near-expulsion from school, losing her father's trust--and the aftermath brings them here, brings them to this unexpected stillness.

Their original plans had included Audrey and comfort food--and convincing Blair that "comfort" wasn't a trick word--until Serena had shown up and found Blair still in bed. And when Blair didn't exactly move, Serena didn't exactly leave. Doing nothing, they found, was a surprisingly valid choice when the alternative was sheer exasperation.

Blair sighs like she's echoing Serena's thoughts. "Did you know we couldn’t feed the ducks?" she says. "Some unshowered idiot started complaining. Obviously, it's unthinkable to feed those poor ducks, but watching them try to eat you is standard NYPD procedure."

Serena chuckles and turns to mirror Blair's position on the bed, lying on her side. "Did they try to eat you?"

"Dorota," Blair clarifies. "It was sad."

Serena's eyebrows rise tentatively. "Maybe that's why you shouldn't be feeding them."

"Maybe you should save your irrelevant opinions for your fellow Brunonians."

Serena reaches out and rests her hand on Blair's bent elbow, breathing out a pained, "B."

"B, nothing," Blair retorts quickly. "It's all downhill from here, Serena. Yesterday, a step closer to ungrateful-but-edifying internships under people I’ll deliberately seat next to Shirley MacLaine at my wedding. Tomorrow, pursuing a prolific career as a mechanic."

Serena laughs. "Blair."

"Frankly, with the week I've had, fixing oil leaks might as well be my calling."

"Blair, you'll never be a mechanic." Serena hears the gravity in her own voice, like this is something that _must_ be reassured, and the mere thought of Blair Waldorf needing to be reminded that she isn’t fated for a repair shop nearly spurs a fit of inopportune giggles. "You should look into drama, though," Serena adds and pokes the very tip of Blair's nose.

Blair bats her hand away and scowls through Serena's laughter. It quiets down, soon enough, and silence heightens the smallest things--Blair’s breathing, the whisper of skin on skin when she draws one knee up.

It's not a smile Serena is preventing when she bites her lip again. "Maybe this was good," she says.

"Well, being rejected by Yale has certainly sparked a new appreciation for your second-rate school," Blair tells her, and she must know--always has, despite all the good it’s done them--Serena’s expression isn’t far from hurt.

Blair gives it a moment before her own lips stretch into a smile of deliberate teasing.

Serena rolls her eyes. "I just mean, you know, everything else brought us to this stellar mess," she tries to elaborate, and her thumb traces patterns on the soft skin of Blair's arm, traces underlying words to help her understand. "Maybe we should be shifting gears."

There is a pause--and Serena never thought she'd actually _feel_ a pause, but there’s no mistaking that lull, the stiffness in the air. And then Blair lifts the sleep mask long enough for Serena to glimpse a look that wouldn’t have been out of place a year ago.

"Your cheesy metaphors alluding to a life of grease stains end here," Blair says. "Understood?"

"But you're the one who brought up--"

Blair's eyebrows rise dangerously.

“Yes, ma'am," Serena says, instead, and throws in a salute at the last minute, because - why not?

She knows the smile wins Blair over when no cutting remark comes. “Good,” Blair says, instead, almost dismissive; it's only the manner her eyes linger, ever-analyzing, that betray the sentiment.

And whatever Blair sees, whatever outcome she sorts out, she wears her satisfaction in the dimples dotting her cheeks. "You may kiss me now."


End file.
